


Harry Potter and the Legend of the Batman

by Bluejoy



Series: Harry Potter/Batman [1]
Category: DCU, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:01:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluejoy/pseuds/Bluejoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter is a wizard whose parents, Thomas and Martha Potter, were killed by Lord Voldemort when he was just a baby. The Dark Lord attempted to kill him as well, but was, for reasons unknown, unsuccessful. Raised by his butler, Alfred, Harry is a promising young wizard with a hopeful future, but his dark past casts a shadow over him. Follow Harry's adventures at Arkham school of Witchcraft and Wizardry as the tragedy of his parents' death pushes him to try and find justice in the strange and unfair world of Wizards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The House at Gotham Hollow

    Our story starts, as stories sometimes do, with the ending of another story. In this story, there had been a man, and his wife, and their son, living together in a house in a place called Gotham. Besides the family and their house, this story  had also involved another man, a wicked, evil man, a man so twisted, so deranged, he hardly deserves to be called a man at all. To refer to him as a monster is far more fitting. But that story is ended now, and with its ending came an ending to all those involved in it. All are gone, now; man, wife, house, and monster, all gone. Even the family dog, Ace, was obliterated to nothingness. Of their story, only wreckage remains; wreckage, and, perhaps, something more.  
    Alfred Pennyworth walked among the wreckage of what had once been the Potter House in Gotham's Hollow. He walked slowly, each step heavy with emotion.  He stared off into the empty horizon, as though he were waiting for the structure that had once obscured it to return somehow. But nothing happened. There was a vacuum left behind by what few broken shards of the building remained, and the expanse of sky that was now visible only drove home the terrifying truth that Alfred had hoped he would never witness; The Potters were dead. There were no corpses, but all the same, he knew it to be true. Seeing what little was left of the house he had known so well, he saw no chance that its inhabitants could have possibly survived.  
    He looked down at the scorched ground and the scattered debris that lay all over, surrounding him. Slowly, as though receiving step-by-step instructions, his face contorted and he let his head fall. His shoulders sagged, and he began to cry.  
    His cries did not go unanswered. As though awakened by his sobs, a new voice began to sob with him, wailing and moaning. At first, he thought it an echo, but it was too high pitched, and it continued even after he had stopped. His ears perked up, and he listened keenly. His eyes, still damp with tears, began to grow bright with hope, and he first walked and then rushed in the direction of the sound. He found, at last, lying alone on the cold floor wrapped in nothing but a dark blanket, a baby boy, screaming uncontrollably. On the boy's head, a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt had emerged right below the dark hairs that had only just begun to grow. "Harry," Alfred murmered through a haze of tears, and he knelt to pick up the boy.  
    Upon being held, the child instantly became quiet. He looked over Alfred's shoulder, and then up at the older man. He reached out a curious hand and touched Alfred's chin, gurgling happily. Alfred rocked the boy gently, and he quickly fell back to sleep, clearly exhausted.  
    Alfred took a second look at his surroundings. There was no debris around where he had found the boy - in fact, looking around, it seemed as though whatever had destroyed the house had started here, blowing everything else away, flattening whatever it did not completely obliterate. "Curiouser and curiouser," Alfred murmured. Holding the infant Harry close to his heart, Alfred pennyworth walked away from what little remained of the Potter house. The car waited a short distance away, a beautiful black rolls much out of place on the dirt and stone road. The streets of Gotham Hollow had not been designed for wheels. The car tugged another of Alfred's heartstrings - it had been a gift to him from Thomas Potter. Thomas had been the only one to understand Alfred's love for muggle vehicles, but he would not allow a friend of his to drive anything less than the best, whether it was a car or a broomstick. With a half smile, Alfred remembered how difficult it had been to talk his friend out of enchanting the thing. In Alfred's mind, the car didn't need it. It was beautiful in its simplicity.  
    Alfred took the baby seat that he had kept prepared, in hope against hope, out of the trunk and steady Harry in it. He strapped the child in to the back seat, where he could see him, and began to take off for London. The child gurgled happily at the unfamiliar feel of the car, wheels rumbling over stones and vibrating up through his seat. Alfred hummed as he drove, a soothing lullaby, and the child was soon asleep. By the time Alfred reached his destination, it was dark out, and Harry did not wake when Alfred stopped the car in the middle of the street. He had never really learned how to park the car the way muggles did; it had never seemed necessary. He got out of the car and walked around, prim and proper, to retrieve Harry from the backseat. When he closed the door and turned from the car, Harry resting snugly in his arms, Alfred was not at all surprised to see an old man in a brilliant emerald robe and a long, silver beard standing opposite him, smiling in a sad, far-off sort of way. All of the street lights were out, but Alfred could still see the other man clearly.  
    "I found the boy, Headmaster."  
    Albus Dumbledore shook his head, the whispy smile not leaving his face. "Please, Alfred, do call me by my name, or if not, simply Professor. It is the only title I will ever believe that I have truly earned, and even then, it is more, I think, than I deserve. If Albus is out of the question, Professor will do."  
    "It would not be proper," Alfred said plainly. In his arms, Harry squirmed, still asleep. "You are the headmaster. It would be disrespectful to imply anything less."  
    "Of course," Dumbledore sighed.  
    "Headmaster?" Alfred asked, a small hesitation in his voice.  
    "Yes, Alfred?"  
    "Is he...really gone, sir?"  
    "Voldemort?" Dumblefore asked simply, and Alfred winced subtly at the name. "Yes, Alfred, I do believe he has gone."  
    Alfred nodded and thinned his lips, as though he had been expecting such an answer. "And will he be back, sir?"  
    Dumbledore's smile widened with pride. "That," he declared, "Is a very intelligent question. I am sure everyone, from his greatest enemies to his dearest followers, is asking themselves the same question tonight. The truth is, Alfred, I do not know, and that worries me. I have grown used to knowing many things, but when it comes to Voldemort..." again, Alfred shook at the mention of the name, in a way that was barely visible, but Dumbledore continued talking as though he had not noticed. "I have never known quite enough about Voldemort. If he does return, however, I do not intend to be caught unawares." As he said this, Albus Dumbledore was not looking at Alfred. He was looking away, over his shoulder, at the house in front of which they met, the house at number 4, Privet Drive.  
    He pulled a letter out of his robe, and looked at it, thinking. For an instant, the smile seemed to disappear, but then he turned back to Alfred, and the smile turned with him, humorous but somehow mournful at the same time. "I will take Harry now, Alfred. The people who live here are his family, and he shall stay with them. I have written them a letter. He will be raised amongst them, like a muggle. He will not know of how famous he is in our world, and he will not know of the terrors that he survived. It is, I fear, the only way that he might grow to be a real person, a boy not swelled with ideas of his own importance. And they are his only living relatives."  
    Alfred made no movement as Dumbledore talked, and when the silver-haired man had finished, Alfred replied very simply "No, sir."  
    "You must understand, Alfred, it is for the boy's protection."  
    "No, Headmaster." Dumbledore reached out a hand, friendly and welcoming, but Alfred stood stock still, not changing his hold on the sleeping baby Harry. "This would be Number 4, Privet Drive, home to Petunia Dursley, born Petunia Evans, sister to Lady Martha Potter, born Martha Evans?"  
    Behind golden spectacles, Dumbledore raised a silver eyebrow. "You know of the family that lives here, then?"  
    "Yes, Headmaster. I had the pleasure of researching the family history of Lady Martha, sir, at Master Thomas' request. He feared for his son's safety, and thought to send him to family. Since, as you mentioned, Master Thomas had no living relatives, and things being what they were, he could not believe the child could be any safer with any other wizarding family, he asked me to inspect Lady Martha's sister to see if she could be called upon in a time of need. After close observation, I concluded that the Dursleys were uniquely unfit to provide Harry with anything resembling a wholesome family environment, and Master Thomas agreed with me. He would not wish for Harry to stay with them, sir."  
    "No more than he would wish for you to continue referring to him as 'Master' Thomas, I am sure." Dumbledore replied in his whimsical, smiling voice. "Thomas had about as much love for what is proper, I think, as I do."  
    "He saved my life, sir. I would be a disgrace to the Pennyworth name if I ignored the debt I owe him."  
    Again, Dumbledore sighed, the ghost of a smile hovering over his now stern face. "As I remember, there were too many who seemed to think you were a disgrace to that name, no matter what debts you did or didn't pay. Regardless what you may owe to Thomas, you owe nothing to the name Pennyworth."  
    "A name is an important thing, sir." Was all Alfred said. "This boy is a Potter, sir. The name Potter is important. It means something. No Potter should suffer to grow up amongst Dursleys, who would treat him as less than the trash beneath their boots. He is a Potter, and he should grow up in Gotham's Hollow. It is, after all, the home of his ancestors."  
    "But where, Alfred? There is nothing left. Where could he live? The House is no longer standing."  
    "The House may be gone, but the foundations stand. The cellar, I am sure, is still habitable."  
    "You would raise the boy underground? In a basement?"  
    "Better his own basement, sir, than someone else's bedroom. If they would even allow him a bedroom, headmaster. I am not so certain that they would."  
    Dumbledore looked away, back at the house on number 4, Privet Drive. He adjusted his spectacles, and then gave Alfred a look that had no smile at all. Only sadness. "They are his family, Alfred. It is imperative that he live with his family. I am sorry, old friend, but I must insist. By the power invested in me as Headmaster, I request that you hand Harry over to me, so that I may place him in the protection of his relatives."  
    Reluctantly, Alfred reached out to hand over the child. As he did so, however, his face stayed serious, calm. "If I may say one more thing, Headmaster?"  
    "Yes, Alfred?"  
    "I do not believe -- I cannot believe, sir, that Master Thomas would want his child to grow up believing that family was just a matter of blood."  
    Dumbledore was still looking at the house on number 4, Privet Drive, but he did not take a step towards it. He looked down at baby Harry, his little head cupped in one of the older man's great, wiry hands, and at the letter he held in the other. After what seemed a year of still, silent thought, he turned back to Alfred and, without a word, tucked the letter back in his robe. He handed Harry back to Alfred.  
    "Thank you, Headmaster."  
    "You're welcome," Dumbledore said distantly, still lost in thought. Looking up, he looked the other man square in the eyes. "You will raise him as your own, then? In what is left of the Potter home?"  
    "I will do what I can, sir. As I said, Master Harry deserves to be raised in Gotham. I will see to it that he does, and that he grows up safe and well. I will see to it that he does not become...what was the phrase? Swelled with his own importance. But I will see that he is not ignorant, either. He should know what it means to be a Potter."  
    Once again, Dumbledore sighed, deeper and longer this time than before. "Master Harry," he muttered with disdain. "Still," he continued a little louder, "I cannot disagree with you. It is better than the alternative. He will have no family, Alfred, no people to call his own. No place. He must understand how to make one for himself."  
    "As you say, sir. I will do what I can."  
    As Alfred drove off in the shiny black Rolls Royce, Albus Dumbledoor reached into his robe and pulled out a small, silver cigarette lighter, and the letter he had been staring at so intently before. With only a moment's hesistation, he opened the silver cigarette lighter with a snap, and a bright white flame shot out and engulfed the letter. He dropped the burning envelope, watched it smolder a bit, and then closed the lighter and opened it again, this time more slowly. A bright, white orb escaped from within the lighter and flew through the air, touching the street lamps around him and filling them with light. Within moments, The street looked like any other street in london, bright with electric light. The only exception to this seeming normalcy was the robed, hatted figure of Albus Dumbledore, with his long silver beard and golden half-moon glasses. He looked one last time at the burnt remains of the letter, and as he did, a smile returned to his lips. It was a knowing smile, the kind of smile someone makes when they have just solved a particularly tricky puzzle, or made a very clever move in a game of chess. And then, with a smile, Albus Dumbledore disappeared, and the only proof that anyone had visited number 4, Privet Drive, that night was a small pile of ashes.


	2. Two Professors

    Harry Potter woke up underground, in darkness. Groggy, but still very much awake, he reached under his bed and pulled out his wand. He didn't know any real spells, but there were still a few things it was good for. He rested it against his night table, and then stated clearly, "Light," and with a small sound like a woosh, a set of candles resting on the table began to burn.  
    It was an enchantment someone else had made, so that anyone with a wand could light the candles about the house. For some reason, electricity didn't quite work in Harry's house, so he and Alfred made do.  
    Alfred had told him not to use his wand unless the two of them were alone in the house, but that had proved an easy rule to follow. Besides Alfred, Harry was always alone when he was at home.  
    Alfred had made this rule so that, if Harry brought home friends from the muggle primary school he attended, they would now know he was a wizard. But Harry did not have any friends at the Muggle school. They did not know he was a wizard, but they knew that he was different, and they showed no intention of bridging the gap his difference created between them. Their parents were all sympathetic for Harry, who they knew had no parents. His teachers were similarly pitying, but none of the adults seemed able to get the lonely boy to mix with the other children.   
    Stranger than his self-imposed separation from the other children, however, was how successful he was despite being on his own. He excelled at his schoolwork, and though the other children did not talk to him much, they often picked him for schoolyard sports because they knew he was good at them. This seemed good enough for the teachers and the parents, who supposed that his silence was a natural part of losing his parents, and would go away as he grew older. By the time he was 10, Harry Potter was left in peace by the muggles who lived around Gotham's Hollow, and spent the summer vacations, like this one, alone at home with Alfred.  
    Harry dressed himself in silence. He was a slight boy, but there were muscles hidden in his wiry frame. He dressed, as always, in a white button down shirt with a black jacket and a little black tie. Meticulously, he ordered his messy dark hair, parting it over the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. Looking in the mirror, he adjusted his glasses, and then he left the room, using his wand to put out the candles as he did. He walked up the stairs, out of the basement, into the Potter house.  
    Gotham's Hollow was a wizard dwelling, but Muggles had long since taken up residence around it. Most of the other wizarding families had left when the Muggles started to move in, and the rest had left after Harry's Parents were killed there. Harry Potter and Alfred were now the only wizards living in Gotham's Hollow. Because of that, it had been difficult to get the house rebuilt; being a wizard house, muggle builders would be of no use. Wizard houses are constructed of spells and wards as much as they are of wood and stone, and those spells had needed to be repaired before the building itself could be erected again. The house was mostly finished now, but Harry was so used to sleeping in the basement that he kept his room there. He found it calming.  
    "A letter for you, Master Harry."  
    Alfred's voice came from the dining room, and as Harry walked in that direction, he could smell breakfast, hot off the griddle.  
    "From Arkham, Alfred?"  
    "I have not opened the letter, sir, but I assume as much." As Harry entered, Alfred set a plate of eggs and sausage down in front of his place. Harry sat down, arranged a napkin as a bib, and began to eat slowly. "Shall I read the letter, sir?"  
    "Yes, please, Alfred."  
    Neatly, Alfred opened the letter with his little finger, pulled out the folded parchment from inside and began to read. "From Arkham Institute of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Dear Mr. Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Arkham Institute of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. The letter is signed James Gordon, Deputy headmaster." Alfred pulled out the list of required materials, but Harry reached out for it.  
    "Can I look at it myself? I want to see what books they want us to read. I might have read them already." It was true. Harry didn't know any magic, but he read whatever he could get his hands on, which had included both Muggle and Wizard books.  
    Alfred looked over the letter himself, paying no attention to the boy's outstretched hand. "The question is 'may I,' Harry, and the answer is you may not. You must finish your breakfast and clean your hands before I hand you this letter. It would not do for you to get grease on an official school letter."  
    Harry groaned in a small voice, but he cleaned up his plate and then obediently took his plate to the sink and washed and wiped his hands. Alfred made a quick inspection of little Harry's hands, adjusted his tie, and then ran a hand over his hair, flattening it. "We will have to find a more reliable way to get your hair in order. It doesn't seem to want to stay put, and I would like for you to be neat when you are at school, as I will not be there to keep you proper. Your letter, sir."  
    "Thank you, Alfred." Harry looked over the list with an excitement he could not keep away from his face. "I have the uniform, though I'll need a hat. The books look basic, but out of them, I've only read One thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi."  
    "How could I forget, sir? I do hope that while you are at school, you do not attempt to poison the food."  
    "Oh, come now, Alfred, it wasn't even really poison. According to the book, it would only have made your teeth grow temporarily."  
    "Of course sir. What else do they say you will be needing?"  
    "A wand, I have. A set of vials, I have several. A cauldron? Alfred, how am I supposed to lug around my own cauldron? Don't they provide us with one?"  
    "I wouldn't know, sir, but I believe there is such a thing as a collapsable cauldron."  
    "A collapsable...? Oh, yes, of course. With an enchantment, I'm sure such a thing is simple. I wonder how they did it. What do you mean you wouldn't know, Alfred? Didn't you go to Arkham when you were my age?"  
    Alfred gave the young boy a look of quiet astonishment, one Harry had grown accustomed to receiving whenever he asked a question people didn't expect him to know enough to ask about. Alfred was abnormally slow in his response, and when he did reply, he did not look Harry in the eyes as he spoke.  
    "I never attended Arkham Institute. You may have noticed that I do not use magic, and I do not carry a wand. I am what is called a squib; Though my family is all wizards for many generations, I am unable to use magic in any capacity, and so was never permitted to go to school at an institute for magical learning."  
    Harry stared at Alfred in amazement. It was as though the older man had just admitted to being a human sized toad in a rubber mask. "But, Alfred, you taught me everything I know about wizards! You're the only other wizard I've ever really met, besides those men who built the house, and all they did was stare at my scar and shake my hand. If you're not a wizard, how do I know that I'm one?"  
    "Your hand with magical herbs is a rather clear indicator. And must I remind you that when we purchased your wand from Mr. Olivander, you broke a rather expensive china vase?"  
    "Anyone can break a vase," Harry said defensively. "I only waved the wand around, its not like I knew what I was doing. It doesn't make me special."  
    "I'm afraid it does, Master Harry. It makes you very special. None of the children who attend your primary school could do a thing like that, sir, nor, I must confess, could I."  
    "But Alfred-" Harry bit back his words as he looked at the prim, well-dressed man who had been father, mother, and servant all for him for as long as much of his life as he cared to remember. But I don't want to be special if it makes me different from you.  
    Alfred seemed to see what was on Harry's mind, and he put a supporting hand on the boy's shoulder. "I will have you know, sir, that I am not ashamed of being a squib. In fact, it was your father who helped me realize that it was something to be proud of, something that gave me worth and strength of character that, sadly, many in my family seemed to lack."  
    "Really?" Harry loved whenever Alfred would talk about his parents.  
    "Your father was a great man, Master Harry. And you will grow to be a great man like him."  
    Harry tried to smile, but it was difficult. He was still struggling with the knowledge that Alfred was a squib. Harry's entire view of the wizarding world had been based off of Alfred, and the stories he told. If Alfred had never even been to a real school of magic, there were probably whole scores of information about being a wizard that Harry knew nothing about.  
    "When will we go to get these things?" He asked, indicating the school inventory. "I assume we'll be going to Diagon Alley?"  
    "I was thinking, sir, that we could go today, if you've nothing else planned."  
    "I was hoping you'd say that, Alfred. I suppose I'll need to wear a robe, since I'll be out in public with other wizards?"  
    "It would only be proper, sir."  
    And so the two of them drove to London, to the Leaky cauldron. Harry had been there once before, when he had gotten his wand. It had been an odd day, with people gaping at his scar, and the man who sold the wands giving him a very peculiar look when he finally found one that fit. Harry knew that he was something of a celebrity to other wizards, but he didn't really understand it. He wasn't particularly looking forward to being surrounded by people staring at him and his scar. After taking an unusually long time to park the car, Alfred led Harry into the deceivingly small building. Inside, it seemed an old fashioned tavern, dank and smelly. Heads turned as the entered, and though Harry kept his head down, his scar was still clearly visible.  
    "Could it be?"  
    "That face..."  
    "That scar..."  
    "Harry Potter?"  
    An excitement spread through the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron like a wildfire. A single glance from Alfred, however, seemed to quell the flames, or at least contain them. Something about Harry's tall, well dressed, well poised manservant struck a cord with the group of witches and wizards, and, as though trying to remember long-lost manners, they approached one at a time and asked, very politely, if they might shake his hand.  
    "An honor, Mr. Potter, truly..."  
    "Garrick's the name, Jay Garrick. Getting your things for school? I've a godson at Arkham, name of Barry Allen. In his third year. I'm sure he'd love to meet you..."  
    "So good, ah, to meet you at last, ah, Mr. Potter." The last gentleman, a tall, thin, stuttering man, offered Harry a very limp hand to shake, and seemed himself to shake with it.  
    "Master Harry, this is Professor Crane. I believe he will instruct you in Defense against the Dark Arts."  
    "Yes, ah, that is, that is the case. Though, of course, ah, you won't be needing, ah, much instruction in that? I am sure?"  
    It seemed as though Professor Crane thought that he was making a joke, and to humor the cautious, spindly man, those around him began to chuckle. The white haired wizard who had introduced himself as Jay Garrick gave Crane a clap on the back, which nearly knocked him over.  
    "Well we won't keep you! Good luck in your shopping, gents!"  
    They continued past the onlookers towards the brick wall in the back. Alfred stepped aside, indicating a single brick on the wall with a slight wave of his hand. "If you would be so kind, Master Harry?"  
    Harry took out his wand and pressed it gently against the brick, and the wall disappeared, opening up to a lively street full of robed wizards and witches, hustling and bustling. Harry had seen it only once before, and it was just as arresting a sight as it had been then. So much magic, all in one place. The street seemed close to exploding.  
    "We will have to make a stop at Gringotts first, of course," Alfred said as the two entered the crowd. Harry nodded solemnly. He never liked visiting the bank. He got along well enough with the Goblins who worked there, but he didn't like being reminded of how much money he had, because he knew he only had it because his parents were dead.  
    When they got there, however, they bumped into a broad chested man in a tan robe with thick glasses and bushy moustache who was on his way out. The man nearly dropped the small, grubby looking package he was carrying. After he checked to see he still had it, the man looked up at them, and a sudden recognition flashed across his face. Harry was prepared for another vigorous handshake and gushing remarks about his scar, but he realized that the man wasn't looking at him.  
    "Alfred? Alfred Pennyworth, is that you?"  
    Alfred's normally straight face broke into a surprised grin. "Professor Gordon, what an unexpected pleasure." The two men embraced, something, Harry had never seen Alfred do.  
    "It's been a dog's age, Alfred! Where the devil have you been?"  
    "I have been living at the Potter house, sir, looking after young Master Harry."  
    It was only then that Gordon noticed Harry was there. Gordon stared long and hard at Harry's scar, and once again, Harry expected to be greeted with the fervor and excitement he had received from every Wizard or Witch he had met so far. Once again, however, he was surprised.  
    "I knew your parents," Gordon said with a stern look. "A finer pair I will never meet. But I am a professor, and you will be my student come September. Perhaps more; I am also the head of Gryffindor House. Both your father and mother were members of Gryffindor when they attended Arkham, and they were the Prefects of their year. If you follow their footsteps, you'll be under my direct care. I'm sure you will do them proud." With a respectful nod, Professor Gordon turned and walked quickly away, still grabbing the small, rag-wrapped bundle under one arm.  
    "He is strict, but fair," Alfred told Harry as they made their way into the bank. "And a truer soul you may never find. I could not think of a man I would trust more, except perhaps for the Headmaster."  
    "That would be Dumbledore?"  
    "Professor Dumbledore, sir. And you should refer to him as Headmaster at all times. It is only proper. He is an amazing man, perhaps the greatest living wizard, and not just in terms of power. He is a good man."  
    "What does he teach?"  
    "The Headmaster? I'm sure he has little time to hold class, what with the running of the school to do."  
    "No, the man we just met. Professor Gordon."  
    "Oh, Professor Gordon? Why, Transfiguration, I believe."  
    Harry was suddenly overtaken with excitement about school. He had already met two of his teachers, and they had been as different as night and day. What kind of place would Arkham be? What would he learn there? It seemed to him a place shrouded in mystery, and there was nothing he liked more than a mystery to unravel.


	3. The Cavern Under the Basement

    After they had retrieved the funds they would need, they went to Flourish and Blotts, and then to Madame Malkin's to get his hat. Alfred was greeted as an old friend, and as he talked with the shopkeeper, a woman took Harry aside to take his measurements. In the fitting room he found another boy, a pale-faced boy no older than Harry with hair so blonde it was near white.  "Off to Arkham?" The boy asked.  
    "Yes," Harry answered simply. "You too?"  
    "My father's probably buying my books as we speak. What a bunch of elementary nonsense. I've already read half of them. Who do they think they're fooling? What's the point of going to school if they aren't going to teach me anything I don't already know?"  
    Harry was taken aback by the boy's unabashed arrogance, but did not want to seem impolite. "I've read some of the books myself," He admitted, "but I think they're meant to be used as introductory material. You know, a foundation to start from. In class, we'll probably practice things beyond what's in the book."  
    The boy nodded, but he wasn't looking at Harry as he spoke. "Of course, you're probably right. Father wouldn't speak so highly of the school if they just taught out of a book. Then again, ever since Dumbledore got his hands on the place..."  
    "Isn't Dumbledore supposed to be the best wizard alive?" Harry asked. The pale boy swept his question aside.  
    "Oh, yes, he's quite powerful, everyone says so. But that alone doesn't qualify him to teach, does it? From what I've heard, it seems the old man's not really all there. My father's always saying they should have made Professor Strange headmaster, but I guess he wasn't as popular."  
    Harry decided not to argue, and the boy kept on talking.  
    "My father says that if Strange was Headmaster, they'd stop letting the wrong sort in. He means muggles, of course, but I wonder about that. I mean, I know most muggles are more trouble than they're worth, but you have to admit, they've done pretty well for themselves considering their handicap. Those muggles who are able learn magic, well, we all know they'll never be as good as pure bloods, but they must be useful for something." He looked thoughtful as he said this.  
    "I went to primary school with muggles," Harry said in off hand way, trying to get a word into the conversation where he could.  
    "Really?" The boy looked at him for the first time, his eyes alive with interest. "Tell me, is it true they run everything with lighting? What do they do when there's no storm? I suppose they just wait around?"  
    The notion of waiting for a thunderstorm to turn on the electricity was so ridiculous that it took all of Alfred's long hours of training in manners for Harry to keep himself from laughing. "No," he said, his face tight with restraint, "They make their own electr- their own lightning. With acid, I think. Though, I think the big generators use fire to run some kind of turbine that then gets converted into electricity."  
    "They can do that? I mean, I know how to do that, but I naturally assumed it was magic - I didn't realize muggles could do the same thing." Now that he was looking at Harry, the boy noticed the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. "Say," he said, suddenly staring intently at Harry, "you're Harry Potter, aren't you?"  
    "Yes," Harry said, trying not to look annoyed at how hard the boy was staring at his scar.  
    "I'm Lex Luthor," the boy said, extending his hand. "You're quite famous, did you know that? You'll have a lot of people looking to make friends with you. I know all the really great wizarding families, because my father is such an important man. I can tell you which of the people around you are decent sort, if you like."  
    "Thank you for the offer," Harry said, as politely as he could, shaking the other boy's hand.  
    "Do you know what house you'll be in?" Lex asked. "My whole family's been in Slytherin, all the way back, so I know that's where I'll be. I wouldn't much mind Ravenclaw, to be honest, but father would be so dissapointed. What about you?"  
    "Professor Gordon told me my parents were both in Gryffindor."  
    "Really? Well, that's a shame." Lex was clearly losing interest in Harry, and Harry saw no reason not to let him. They spent the next little while in silence, before   someone came in to fit them for their clothes. It take Harry very long, since he only needed a hat. Alfred never let him go long without fresh, neat robes, even when he was living with muggles. He said a polite goodbye to Lex, who only grunted in response, and he and Alfred headed home, Alfred carrying a small bag that somehow fit the hat, along with all of Harry's books. They passed the Owl Emporium. "Would you like an Owl, Master Harry?" Alfred asked. "They are quite useful for mail, and good companions besides."  
    "I'll be fine," Harry said. "Don't they have owls at school? I'll just use communal ones. I don't need one of my own."  
    They were silent as they left the Leaky cauldron amidst muttered praise and pointed fingers. As they drove back to Gotham, Harry asked Alfred a hesitant question. "Alfred?"  
    "Yes, Master Harry?"  
    He paused, and then chose to ask the safer question first. "What is the difference between the houses at Arkham?"  
    "I am to understand that students are put in their house based on their character. Gryffindor, the house of your parents, selects students who are brave and loyal to their friends above all else. People who value knowledge and cleverness are placed in Ravenclaw, and I believe Hufflepuff takes the hardworking and strong willed."  
    "And what about Slytherin?"  
    Alfred gave a short pause before answering. "Slytherin...Slytherin is the fourth house, and it takes students who are ambitious and powerful. However, the house's reputation is...not the best. There are many dark wizards amongst the Sytherin Alumni, and the house values lead to superior mindset amongst many members of the house. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, there is a tendency for old-fashioned, more...traditional families to prefer the house."  
    "You mean muggle haters. 'Traditional' is just a polite way of saying 'close-minded.'"  
    "I must confess, Master Harry, that politeness is, indeed, important to me. As it should be to you."  
    "Was Voldemort in Slytherin?" Harry asked bluntly. Startled, Alfred nearly stopped the car. When he had regained his composure, he answered slowly and clearly.  
    "It is not known who exactly...He Who Must Not Be Named...was, before he rose to power. However, the evidence strongly suggests that he was." Alfred took a deep breath, and then added "Sir, I must ask that you not use that name. If I may be so bold, sir."  
    "It's only a name, Alfred."  
    "A name is a very powerful thing, Sir. It would do well for you to remember that."  
    "Alright, but I do still have some questions about Vo- about You Know Who."  
    "I...will answer to the best of my ability, sir."  
    "When I was younger, you told me that You Know Who died trying to kill me."  
    "Yes, sir."  
    "Naturally, I assumed that you were lying to make me feel better, and that my mother had done the deed, or Albus Dumbledore, But after the way people treated me today..."  
    "Sir!" Alfred's outrage was contained, but obvious. "I would never lie to you, sir. Not about something so important."  
    "Not knowingly, no." Harry said evenly. "But you have to admit, it's a rather difficult story to believe. The strongest dark wizard in the world dies trying to kill a child?"  
    "Perhaps you were protected somehow, sir. or had some power, even as a child...The scar on your forehead is proof that He Who Must Not Be Named used magic upon you, and the fact that you are alive is proof that he failed."  
    "Is that really how it works? Did other victims of vo- of You Know who have scars like mine?"  
    "...no, sir, but nevertheless-"  
    "Magic may seem unpredictable at times, Alfred," Harry said in an almost lecturing tone, "But it follows logic. Most of the first wizards were logicians and philosophers: Ptolemy, Aristotle, Confucius. They studied magic and found that it had rules, limits, reasons for working the way it does. Powerful curses don't rebound for no reason, and babies aren't born with amazing powers to rival dark wizards. No, Albus Dumbledore or someone else fought Voldemort over my crib. I just don't understand why they left me to take credit for it."  
    Alfred gave young Harry a strange look through the rear view mirror. "It is a good thing you are going to school, Master Harry. You still have a lot to learn about Magic."  
    They were silent the rest of the Drive back to Gotham's Hollow. When they arrived, Harry went down to the basement, eager to experiment with his new cauldron. The basement was large, with several unused rooms. He picked one, lit the candles with his wand, and began to clear space to set up a makeshift laboratory. The room seemed to be mostly used as a storage space, with large, unmarked boxes and old furniture covered in sheets to keep the dust off. Some of the things were small enough that he could move them without assistance, but several were not. He didn't want to call down Alfred to help- for some reason he couldn't define, Harry wanted to be alone. He picked a corner of the room that was taken up mostly by old boxes and crates, and began to dislocate them to other parts of the room. Soon, he had the whole corner cleared, except for an old grandfather clock that lay against the wall.  
    At first, he felt he didn't need to move the clock, but as he laid out the space for his cauldron, he saw that he had not cleared a large enough space. The cauldron only barely didn't fit with the clock jutting out from the wall. He went to move the old thing, only to find it didn't budge. He tried pushing it, pulling it, wiggling it, even kicking it in desperation, but the old wooden clock stayed perfectly stationary, exactly where it was.  
    Bracing his back against it and pushing off with his feet as hard as he could, he still met with an immovable resistance. "Move!" he hissed, and then, with a jolt, the clock slid away behind him, and he fell backwards into a long, dark staircase. Before he could tumble too far down, he regained his balance and came up to a crouch. He couldn't see anything, but he knew that the stairs went down, far, far, down. Carefully, he went back up to the basement room, picked up a candle, and began his descent.  
    The stairs wound deep into the earth, and it seemed ages before he reached the bottom. Once he was there, a dark expanse opened up before him, a cave so wide and empty that it terrified Harry down to the very fabric of his soul. Hesitant, he raised his candle in the air. Its dim light failed to conquer the heavy shadow around him, and he stepped forward slowly, cautiously. the ceiling and walls of the place were too far away for him to see, with only the slight outline of stalactites and stalagmites by which to judge how far up and to the sides the cave stretched. Staring up into the darkness, Harry stumbled over something with a clatter and nearly fell on his chin. He caught himself on his arms, scarping them harshly against stone, but he made no more than a slight grunt at the pain. Wincing, he got back to his feet and looked at what had tripped him.   
    It was a stone mask, dark black like polished glass, but without the shine. It looked solid and strong, but as Harry knelt down to pick it up, he found it was much lighter than it looked. It was not a full mask - on an adult face, it would only cover the top half of the face. He peered at it curiously. The eyeholes were not open, but covered in a white, opal substance, giving the mask the appearance of having its own, empty eyes. The brows of the mask were furrowed in an expression of rage.  
    Harry turned the mask over, examining the inside. Much to his surprise, the opaque white eyes of the mask were perfectly translucent from the inside. In fact, as he held the mask up to his own face, he could see much better through the mask's eyes. What had been impenetrable darkness was now an expansive cave, its many crevices and potholes perfectly perceivable in grays, blues and greens. The mask was too large for his face, however, and he had trouble holding it properly so that he could see out both eyes. Since it had no string or hooks to fasten it by, he had to press it against his face with one hand, adjusting his grip as he shifted it to improve his vision. The stone of the mask was cold and smooth, though, and hard to hold, and as he tried to look up, it slipped from his hand and fell to the ground in a dreadful clatter.  
    The loud sound of the stone mask hitting the ground echoed violently throughout the cavern, and for a moment, Harry feared it had broken. As he picked it up, he looked it over frantically, the continuing sound of its fall ringing in his ear making him nervous, but he was satisfied to find it unmarked. He breathed a sigh of relief as around him, the noise drained away. He once again placed the mask over his face. The noise was not quite gone; instead, it seemed to have changed, the last echoes of the clack of stone on stone reduced to a shuffling, rustling sort of sound. Instead of getting quieter, this sound was getting louder. An edge of fear rising inside of him, Harry looked up. At first, all he saw was darkness, even through the eyes of the mask. But as the noise grew around him, he realized that the darkness was moving. It was coming towards him, a mass of squirming, writhing blackness. No longer a quiet rustling, the sound of thousands of wings thundered around him as bats fell upon him in the hundreds, covering his field of vision. He dropped his candle, but he held onto the mask as he ran through the swarm of tiny bodies and towards the stairs.  
    They chased him as he ran up. He was in total darkness as he ran, but he could feel the pressure of flapping wings behind him, and he had an arm thrust out ahead of him to avoid any twists or turns in the ascent. Filled with terror and adrenaline, he scrambled up the steps two at a time, running blind. At last, he saw light above him; picking up speed, he barrelled forwards, up out of the cave and right into his new cauldron. With a loud thud, Harry fell into the large, empty cauldron just as his momentum knocked it over, and found himself trapped under the heavy metal thing, in absolute darkness again. From outside, he heard the clatter of feet, and within moments, light met his eyes again as Alfred lifted the cauldron up and put it right.  
    "Master Harry, is everything alright?"  
    "The bats -- Alfred, the bats, they were everywhere!"  
    But there were no bats - the basement room was empty. He turned to the old clock on the wall, but it was back in its place, as though nothing had changed.  
    "Alfred, behind this clock -- there were stairs, and a giant cave, huge -- and then the bats --"  
    "Master Harry, do calm down, you're safe now."  
    "Behind the clock -- its got to be magic, Alfred. It wouldn't move, but when I told it to open, it opened. Here, watch. Open!" But the clock stayed where it was.  
    "You are frightened, Master Harry. Please, just take a deep breath. Perhaps you imagined --"  
    "I didn't Imagine it, Alfred! There were bats, thousands of them! Open, I said!" He point menacingly at the clock, still shaking. Alfred's eyes fell on his pointing hand.  
    "Master Harry," he asked slowly, "what is that you're holding?"  
    Gripped tightly in Harry's hand was the black stone mask.  
  



	4. Leaving Gotham

Once he had calmed down, Harry told Alfred the story of the cavern behind the clock with great detail, but though Alfred believed him, neither of them had any luck getting the clock to open a second time. Resigned that there must have some special circumstances, Harry began to study the mask he had found. It was extremely sturdy, and was not scratched or dented by hammers, swords, or even the few acids that he had to experiment with. "I wonder if its spell proof, too," he said to Alfred, who had agreed to help him test its limits, "But since I don't know any spells yet, I'll have to wait until I learn some to find out."  
    Even with this new mystery right under his feet, the allure of Arkham was fresh in his mind. Each day that passed as they drew nearer to September could not go by quick enough for Harry. He couldn't wait to see what school of witchcraft had to teach him. He read all of his books from cover to cover, and experimented with his new cauldron to pass the time, but when the day at last came for them to take the train to school, Harry was so full of energy, he had trouble sitting still in the car.  
    "Do you think they'll let us make all of the potions in the text book? There are so many, and some of the ingredients are very rare, but some of them could be very useful! I mean, with a polyjuice potion, I could..."  
    "I don't know what you'll do in class, Master Harry, but I'm sure you'll be able to pursue whatever studies you wish in your own time, provided they are harmless to others."  
    "And then charms! The book explained the theory, but there weren't any illustrations, so I'm not clear on the right way to use the wand. How will they teach us to learn them? Will they make us practice on each other?"  
    "I doubt the Headmaster would allow such a thing, sir."  
    "Will we get to play Quidditch?" Alfred had taken him to see a quiddich match once, as a christmas present. It had been amazing, so amazing that Harry hadn't noticed he wasn't wearing thick enough robes, and had come down with a bad cold that stuck with him for the next few weeks.  
    "Yes, sir, each house has its own Quidditch team. Your father, I believe, was the captain of the Gryffindor team in his time."  
    "I've never ridden a broomstick before. Are they fast?"  
    "Very, sir. It takes quite a bit of talent to really control one."  
    The whole drive to Grand Central Station was one long, extended question and answer session. Most of the questions, Harry had already asked at some point in the weeks leading up to the fateful day, but he wanted to hear the answers again, even when Alfred said he didn't know, because he'd never been to Arkham himself. The mystery of the place was, in some ways, more appealing than what few facts he had about the school from A History of Magic.  
    When they arrived at the station, Harry gathered all of his things together in a cart. Alfred reigned him in before he raced off with the cart, straightened his robe, and attempted to comb down his restless hair. "Slowly, Master Harry, or you'll trip."  
    They made their way to Platform nine and three quarters, Harry's fervor began to wean as he realized how much he stood out. A man and a boy, both dressed in full length robes, pushing a cart loaded with heavy books and a metal cauldron down the halls of Grand Central Station. The stares of the people who walked past him stuck to him, and a flush began to grow on his face. Did every wizard have to go through this? Couldn't he have put on his robes after they'd gotten on the train?  
    Once he got to the right place, however, he saw that he was not the only person sticking out like a sore thumb. A tall boy with dark wavy hair dressed in bright red robes stood confused, looking at the space between platforms nine and ten. His cart was even more stuffed than Harry's, with a large cage containing a snowy owl balancing precariously on what seemed to be a beaten up, second hand copy of The Standard book of Spells. Behind him hovered an older looking married couple, dressed simply in muggle clothing, smiling nervously.  
    "He must be a muggle born wizard," Harry said to Alfred. "I guess nobody told him how to enter the platform. We should help him."  
    "Of course sir,"  
    Harry walked over to where the red-robed boy stood, Alfred following behind him with the cart. "Excuse me," he asked politely, "Are you on your way to Arkham?"  
    A wave of relief passe over the faces of the boy and his parents. "Yes, I am," The bot replied happily. "Only -- well, they said platform nine and three quarters, but, I mean..."  
    "Don't worry, the entrance is hidden," Harry reassured them "You weren't to know. You're a first year, then?"  
    "Yes."  
    "Me too. My name is Harry Potter." Harry extended his hand. Much to his delight, the other boy made no notice at Harry's name.  
    "I'm Clark," he said, giving Harry's hand a strong, firm shake. "Clark Kent. I'm...well, I'm kind of new to all of this magic stuff."  
    "Don't worry. I'm sure you're not the only one. Now, Alfred says that the way in is beyond that wall, and to get through, we have to ram into it a full speed. Right, Alfred?"  
    "Yes, sir."  
    Harry turned back to Clark, who seemed to be steeling himself. Over his shoulders, his parent looked at each other worryingly.  
    "Don't be afraid. I'm sure it'll work. Would you like me to go first?" Harry snuck a look at the wall. It looked very solid. Was Alfred sure? After all, he'd never been to Arkham himself.  
    Maybe Harry's own nervousness showed on his face, because Clark put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll go together."  
    "On three, then? One, two, THREE!"  
    As one, Harry and Clark plunged headlong towards the wall. Harry braced himself for impact, but it didn't come. Within instants, they found themselves on an entirely different platform, an old-fashioned-looking train station filed with others like them, boys and girls of all ages in long robes with tall, pointed hats.  
    "Impressive, isn't it?" Came Alfred's voice behind him. Clark's Parents stood beside him, marveling at the wonders around them. Clark's father adjusted his glasses, gaping at all the wizards and witches gathered together, many with their wands out, doing impossible things.  
    "Yes," Harry replied.  
    "You'll have to forgive me sir, for the little fib."  
    "Fib, Alfred?"  
    "I'm afraid, sir, that I may have lied about the necessity of ramming speed. It is a school tradition, you see, one your father told me about. It is supposed to help clear away the first year jitters. As you can see, if one wishes, one can simply walk through the enchanted portion of the wall, so long as one knows it is there."  
    Harry laughed. "I forgive you, Alfred." Next to them, he saw Clark embracing his parents, kissing them goodbye fondly. He and Alfred stood facing each other, an arms' length apart. Alfred had a funny look on his face. "Is something wrong, Alfred?"  
    Alfred shook his head, but did not meet Harry's eye directly. "Nothing sir. I was only...I was a bit worried, when we first arrived, but now..."  
    "Alfred?"  
    Alfred knelt down and gripped harry by his shoulders, looking him dead in the eye. "Have a good year at school, Harry," he said earnestly, "Make friends."  
    Harry leaped forward and hugged the old butler with all his might. "I'm going to miss you, Alfred."  
    "And I you, Master Harry."  
    There was a whistle, and Alfred released Harry gently. "You have to catch your train now, sir." Looking back at ever chance, Harry boarded the train with Clark beside him. Once all their things were loaded on, Clark and Harry both pressed themselved against the window of their compartment and waved at the beaming figures who stood on the platform, watching them, and neither boy stopped waving until the platform itself was out of sight.


	5. An Unexpected Fate

    "So," Harry said as they settled into their places on the train. "Neither of your parents are wizards, right?"  
    "That's right. But when I got my letter, they said they'd been expecting it all along. Honestly, though, whatever they say, I haven't a clue what I'm doing here. But you're a proper wizard, aren't you? You must be right at home."  
    Harry laughed. "Not exactly. See, my parents were wizards, but I was raised with mostly muggles -- that's what we call people who can't do magic. So really, I'm not that different from you. I always knew I would go to Arkham eventually, but I don't know all that much about magic or being a wizard."  
    "Well, maybe you can help me. First of all, what am I supposed to do with him?" Clark jabbed a finger at the snowy owl, who hooted from his cage. "When we went to get my books, we didn't know where to go, and we ended up at this odd shop that had a lot of them second hand, as well as some other pretty surprising stuff. Flying Broomsticks! I never imagined such a thing. I wanted one, but they were all so expensive, so I didn't say anything. Anyway, the man there said every proper wizard had an owl, so I got one. But I haven't a clue why I did. You don't have an owl, do you?"  
    "I don't, but the man was right; most wizards do have their own owls. Have you given it a name?"  
    "Krypto. So why do wizards keep owls?"  
    "They make for good companions, for one thing. They're supposed to be very smart. But they also help you carry letters and packages. Almost all wizard post is down by owls. I don't have one because I don't have anyone to send letters to besides Alfred, and I can use a school owl for that."  
    "Alfred...is he the man who was with you? Why weren't your parents...?"  
    "My parents are dead," Harry said, his voice colder than he'd intended.  
    "Oh. I'm so sorry. What...What happened?"  
    "They were killed, by a very evil man. A dark wizard. You wouldn't have heard about him, and you probably won't if I don't tell you. Most people don't like to talk about him. They won't even say his name. They call him 'you know who,' or 'he who must not be named' or other silly things."  
    "What was his name?"  
    "Voldemort. He killed a lot of people, not just my parents. Even now that he's dead, people are afraid of him, because of how many people he killed."  
    "He's dead? Who killed him?"  
    Harry looked away. It was a question he desperately wanted to know the answer to himself. Before he could explain, though someone burst through the door.  
    It was a girl their age, with shoulder length auburn hair, a dressed neatly in a blue robe. "Excuse me, I'm sorry to interrupt, but have either of you seen a toad?"  
    "A what?" Clark asked?  
    "A toad. A boy from my compartment lost his pet toad, I was wondering if you seen it."   
    "Oh," Clark said, looking confused. He turned to Harry. "Do toads carry mail as well?"  
    The girl in the doorway laughed, and Clark flushed red. "No, just owls," Harry answered, keeping his face straight. He turned to the girl. "No, we haven't seen it. Have you tried looking in the toilets? Toads usually look around for water."  
    The girl shuddered slightly. "That's a disgusting thought. Anyway thanks for the help." She extended her hand. "I'm Lois Lane."  
    Harry shook it. "I'm Harry Potter, and this is-" but he didn't get any further.  
    "Harry Potter? THE Harry Potter?"  
    "Well, I mean-"  
    "Of course you are, look at your scar. Do you mind if I sit with you?"  
    "Aren't you looking for someone's toad?" Harry asked uncomfortably, not liking the way she was staring at him.  
    "But you're so much more interesting! Tell, me, do you remember it at all?"  
    "Remember what?" Clark asked, but Lois ignored him.  
    "I was only a baby when it happened," Harry said.  
    "When what happened?" Clark asked again.  
    "People remember all kinds of things from when they were babies. Anyway, you have to remember something, it's the most important event in modern wizarding history. It would be such a waste if you didn't remember anything."  
    Harry's eyes narrowed, and anger filled him, but he didn't get a chance to let it out. A second time, the door to their compartment opened to reveal a girl. This girl stood up straight and proud, with long, flowing black hair with a glossy, reflective sheen. She wore an expensive looking black robe with gold fringes, and had silver bracelets around each of her wrists. "Hello, has anyone seen-" the new girl stopped in mid sentence and looked down at Lois. "Lois, what are you doing? I thought you were helping us look for Arthur's toad."  
    "Oh, never mind that," Lois said, tossing her hair back with a chuckle, "you'll never guess who I found. It's so much more interesting than a missing toad."  
    The new girl put her hands on her hips. "Lois, you told Arthur you would help him. You can't go back on your word."  
    "Diaaana!" Lois whined, "You're so serious all the time! I'm not going back on anything, I just got sidetracked, that's all. Anyway, Arthur's toad is probably just in the toilet."  
    No sooner had she said that then a blood curdling scream cut through the air, coming from the toilets at the end of the car. "See?" Lois said, unfazed. "Somebody found it already. Now," she reached out and grabbed the other girl's wrist while she was still distracted, and pulled her into the car. "There's someone I want you to meet." she turned to Harry, indicating the proud girl with the bracelets. "This is Diana Prince. Diana, this is Harry Potter."  
    Diana eyed Harry with surprise, and something caught in his throat. She had a very piercing glare, and she stared right at him, glancing only slightly at his scar. She reached out a hand. "A pleasure to meet you," she said simply.  
    "Same," he replied, not sure what to make of this imposing girl. Much to his relief, she turned her intense stare from him to Clark.  
    "And who are you?" She asked.  
    "That's right," Lois said suddenly, "I never even thought to ask you. What's your name, anyway? How do you know Harry?"  
    "Umm, I'm Clark Kent. I met Harry at the station. I, err, didn't know how get to the platform."  
    "Didn't know how?" Lois asked incredulously. "Where are you from, anyway? I've never met you before."  
    "Oh, my parent's aren't...Aren't wizards." Clark was clearly very embarrassed, and looked at his feet as he spoke. "I'm from a little town called Smallville."  
    "Smallville." Repeated Lois. "You're telling me there's a town somewhere in Britain called...Smallville?"  
    "It's not very large," he managed to reply shyly.  
    "I gathered that," she scoffed. "To think...Harry Potter on this train, and the only person who knew about it was a muggle-born boy from a place so insignificant they had to say so in the name." She grinned. "I'm going to tell everyone."  
    "You will do no such thing, Lois!" Diana barked. "And don't be so rude. Whatever Clark's village is called, I'm sure its no business of yours."  
    Lois stuck out her tongue at the other girl as she leapt to her feet. "You can't boss me around, Diana. Just because you always act like you're older doesn't mean you are!" And with that she opened the door and skipped out of the compartment.  
    "She seems...Energetic." Clark said diplomatically. Harry stared miserably at his reflection. Once she told them, the whole train would come knocking at their doors, gawping at his scar, asking him to remember the night when his parents were murdered.  
    "Energetic isn't the word for it," Diana said sourly. "She's reckless and insensitive." Much to Harry's surprise, she put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Don't pay her any mind. I'm sure you don't like people making a spectacle out of you. I'll do what I can to stop people from crowding you. You deserve your privacy."  
    Harry looked up at her, and met the same piercing stare he had met before, only now there seemed to be a spark of sympathy shining in the back of her eyes. "Thank you," he said wholeheartedly.  
    They sat in silence for a few moments, until Clark, red in the face, blurted out "Umm, could you...Could you tell me about being a wizard? Or, a witch, in your case? Only, I really don't know anything."  
    Diana laughed, but it was a kind laugh, not derisive or belittling like Lois' laughter had been. "Of course I'll help you. What do you want to know?"  
    For most of the train ride, the three of them sat talking. Clark would ask questions, and Diana and Harry would debate about the best answer. Sometimes, Diana would ask Clark a question of her own. Harry knew that Clark wanted to know why Harry was famous, wanted Harry to finish his story about Voldemort, and he was sure that Diana had things she wanted to ask him as well. But whether it was politeness or coincidence, they didn't talk about Harry. Instead, they had fun telling Clark about Quidditch and the many magical creatures that lived around the world under the noses of muggles, and Clark told them about his family's farm, and living in a small town without magic.  
    Diana was in the middle of explaining where she was from when a knock came at the door. They all looked at eachother, and without a word, Diana stood up and answered the door.  
    It was Lex Luthor, the boy Harry had met in Diagon Alley. Over each of his shoulders was a large, ugly boy in plain black robes. Lex's robes were deep green, with a purple border. He looked straight past Diana at Harry. "Hello," He said simply, "I heard that you were in this compartment, and I thought I'd stop by and see how you were."  
    "Hi, Lex," Harry said. "How are you?"  
    "Lex?" Diana asked, suddenly stiffening. She stared right at the blonde boy. "Are you Lex Luthor?"  
    "Yes. I suppose you know my name because you've heard of my father?"  
    Diana's kind face contorted into a snarl. "I've heard of him, alright. From my mother, Hypolita Prince. Maybe you've heard of her. Your father is a coward and a sneak, and you are not welcome here." And with a slam, she closed the door in his face.  
    "Diana!" Harry cried. "I know that boy! There was no need to be rude, he's not so bad-"  
    "Not so bad?" Diana whirled on him, and the intensity of her glare seemed likely to burn a hole in Harry's glasses as she met his eye. "Harry, that boy's father used to work for You Know Who. You of all people should understand better than to consort with someone like that."  
    Harry was taken aback. "Worked for...But wouldn't he be in jail, if anybody knew?"  
    "He should be in jail," Diana sneered, sitting down grumpily. "Mum says he got off because he's rich, and because he scared everyone who could prove what he was into silence. Scared them, or killed them. He's a monster. And his son's probably no different. Did you see his robes? Already wearing green, even before he's been sorted. Slytherin colors. All of the people they caught as You Know Who's supporters were in Slytherin, did you know that? And You Know Who himself claimed to be descendent from Salazar Slytherin, the founder of the house. I don't know how they sort you into houses, but I'd rather die than end up in Slytherin." With a huff, she turned away from Clark and Harry, and the two of them exchanged a look. They decided it was best not to provoke her further, and spent the rest of the ride in relative silence. Once or twice, others came by to see the famous Harry Potter, but Diana was in such a bad mood that she scared them away.  
    By the time they finally arrived at Arkham, Diana had cooled off some, and they were talking pleasantly again, but Harry still saw an edge to Diana's sharp glare that hadn't been there before Lex had arrived. They started to pull their things out of the the compartment when an older boy walking by saw them. "Don't bother with that," he told them, "The professors sort it all out once you get off the train, after you've been sorted. Your things will be transported to your house's common room."   
    "Really?" Diana asked in a doubting voice. "Nobody told me that."  
    "Yes," he assured her, his face remaining impassive. "I'm surprised nobody told you, but I'm telling you now. My name is John Jones, I'm a Prefect for Gryffindor house.  
    "Oh!" Diana said, completely mollified. She turned to Clark and Harry. "Come on, leave your things. We can trust him."  
    Together, the three of them made their way off the train, John ahead of them, stepping every so often to check the compartments and make sure everyone was getting off. Once they got off the train, a tall blond wizard with ridiculously large glasses in a garish orange robe got their attention. "FIrst years! All First years this way!" As the older students brushed past them, chatting away amongst themselves, Harry, Clark and Diana made their way to a growing cluster of children their age. The blonde wizard kept shouting until everyone was off the train, and it began to chug off, further down the rail. Looking around, Harry found himself on an empty plain under the shadow of some large hills, overlooking a large lake. The path led away from the train platform and up the hills, but the blonde wizard was leading them away from it "My name is Professor Baker, and I'm the Gameskeeper here at Arkham, as well as the Care of Magical Creatures Professor. Come with me, I'll take you to the castle." They split into small groups and came to the edge of the lake, where Professor Baker put them in small boats. Harry looked for oars to row with, but to his surprise, once he, Diana and Clark had gotten in, it began to move on its own. The boat propelled itself forward, into the center of the lake, and as they turned, something came into view on the horizon.  
    A castle. Harry heard Clark gasp beside him, and even Diana seemed taken in by its beauty. It was overpowering. The castle was enormous and imposing, and withe the light of the setting sun reflecting onto its walls off of the lake, it was the most fascinating thing Harry had ever seen.  
    Harry could see the other students walking in the front door of the school as they passed, but the boats took them to a side entrance, where they were met by Professor Gordon. "Is this everyone, Buddy?"  
    "Yes, Jim," Professor Baker replied.  
    "First years!" Gordon boomed, his voice deep and authoritative. "You will be taken to the main hall, to be sorted into houses by the Helmet of Fate! When I call your name, you will proceed to the center of the hall and place the helm on your head. It will pronounce your fate; specifically, which house you are fated to join. You will then proceed to that house's table. The word of fate is final; there will be no switching houses once your house is chosen. Are there any questions?"  
    There were none. They proceeded into the main hall, and as Harry looked out at the long tables, filled with wizards, he noticed many eyes on him. All around him, the other first years were whispering to themselves, sneaking looks at his scar, and even far off at the house tables, people seemed to be looking at him, talking about him. He hid his face.  
    At the head of the hall, sitting on a pedestal, was a golden helmet. It was a full helm, covering the whole face with only small slits for eyes, and no holes for breathing. Its golden surface gleamed, and as they watched, it slowly began to levitate off of the pedestal. A flurry of gasps swept through the first years, and the students at their house's tables began to quiet down. Professor Baker pushed through the crowd of first years carrying a wooden chair, and set it down in front of the floating helmet. "BEGIN," a deep voice boomed from the Helmet of Fate.  
    Professor Gordon flicked his wand, and a long scroll appeared before him. He began to read names off the list.  
    "Adams, Nathaniel!"  
    A stocky boy made his way past Harry, out of the crowd of first years, and sat himself down on the chair. The Helmet lowered itself onto his head, and after a few moments, it spoke. "GRYFFINDOR."  
    The helmet lifted itself from young Nathaniel's head, turned expectantly to Professor Gordon as the boy made his way to a clapping, enthusiastic crowd of Gryffindors.  
    Gordon went to the next name on his list. "Carter, Micheal Jon!" A smug looking boy sauntered forward, and once the helmet was on his head, it boomed out clearly "HUFFLEPUFF!"  
    "Curry, Arthur!" was a nervous-looking little blonde boy, clutching his toad in his hands.  
    The ceremony went on like this for some time, students going one by one, in alphabetical order. Harry watched the helmet as it made its selections. It was an eerie thing, and even when it wasn't on someone's head, it seemed to look at them with empty, nonexistent eyes. Watching it, he began to think of the black mask he had found under his home. Was it magic, too? Could it speak, or levitate itself? He had packed in his trunk, hiding it under his clothes, in the hopes that he could find out more about it at school.  
    "Kent, Clark!" Professor Gordon read out long and clear. Jolted from his thoughts, Harry gave the other boy a reassuring pat on the back as he walked towards the helmet.  
    "Good luck."  
    But the Helmet hardly rested over Clark's head for an instant before proclaiming, emphatically, "GRYFFINDOR!" Next to Harry, Diana was beaming, and the two of them clapped along with the Gryffindor table as Clark walked shyly over.  
    After him, Kord, Ted, was sent to Hufflepuff, Kyle, Selina, was sent to Slytherin, and with a knowing smile and a confident walk, Lane, Lois walked to the Ravenclaw table. After her, Luthor's name was called. As Lex made his way to the helmet, Diana glared at him with open hatred, but he seemed to ignore her. The helmet fell upon his head, and it stayed there. Silence reigned in the hall as Luthor sat, the Helmet of Fate placed firmly on his head.  
    "Oh just hurry up and say it," Diana hissed, "We all know where he's going."  
    And then, the lengthy pause was over. "SLYTHERIN!" the helmet declared. Proud and calm, Luthor made his way to the cheering table decked in green. And then, after a few more names, Harry heard his own.  
    "Potter, Harry!"  
    The hall began to erupt with the quiet noise of whispers and mutters. Eyes cast down, biting his bottom lip, he started to walk. For an instant, Diana reached out and gripped his hand, giving it a squeeze, and then let it go. Smiling, he looked up, trying to block the sound from his mind. As he sat in the chair, the Helmet of Fate lowered itself over his head.  
    "Harry Potter," a voice sounded in his ear. It the same deep, booming voice he had heard before, yet somehow he knew it was just for him. "Where will you go, I wonder? You may just be another difficult one. You have the guts of the Gryffindor, yes, and the mind of a Ravenclaw. But where would you do best?"  
    Just as long as I'm not in Slytherin, he thought.  
    "Do not presume to think that you can sway me," The Helmet told him sternly, startling Harry by reading his thoughts so easily. "I will put you where you need to be. But where you need to be depends on what you need. Tell me, Harry Potter...What is it that you want?"  
    What do I want? Harry wracked his brain. Images of spells and potions, broomsticks, all the things he had wanted to learn, spun through his mind, but a single image dominated them all, an image he was very familiar with. You can't give me what I want, he thought bitterly. I want justice for my parents.  
    "You do not know what Fate can and cannot give you, Harry Potter. There is much that you do not know, much that you will learn. But if Justice is what you want, there is one place you will surely find it.  
    "SLYTHERIN!"


	6. An Ancient and Honorable Establishment

The helmet rose from Harry's head, but he didn't move. With only a moment's hesitation, Professor Gordon read the next name on his list. "Prince, Diana!"  
    Harry looked at Diana. She was gaping at him with an expression of disbelief, as though he had just cheated her out of something of unspeakable worth. His heart dropped like an anchor, and he got up from his seat and walked over to the Slytherin table. Behind him, he felt Diana's eyes bore into him. She did not move towards the helmet. "Prince, Diana!" Professor Gordon repeated irritably.  
    Harry reached the table and sat himself down next to Lex Luthor, who shook his hand with a proud, welcoming smile. Seeing the hand shake, some of the Slytherins began to clap, and slowly more and more of faces around the table turned to smiles as the applause spread its way down the table. It was only then, with the Slytherin Table in full, raucous celebration, that Diana started off towards the Helmet. Her face was a mask of disgust.  
    There were a lot more names called, but Harry hardly paid any attention. When Zatara, Zatana sat down at the Ravenclaw table, The faculty all gathered at the podium at the head of the hall, looking down at the four long tables where the students sat. All the professors stood there, and at the center, with his long white beard and his golden half moon spectacle, Harry potter knew at once that he was looking for the first time at Albus Dumbledore.  
    "Hello, Students new and old, and welcome to Arkham!"  
    There was a round of cheers and applause, but Harry noticed that the people at his table were noticeably less involved than the others.  
    "Before we eat, I have a few words to share with all of you. And here they are: Bulwark! Scalawag! Quizzical! Slurp!" And on that note, the old man waved his arms, and on all four tables appeared a magnificent feast, dishes of all sorts, and so numerous that some were stacked on top of each other. Around the room, students at every table gave cries of surprise and delight, and began to grab everything in arms reach and shovel it onto their plates.  
    But Harry wasn't feeling hungry. He glanced over to the Gryffindor table, but both Diana and Clark were sitting with their backs to him, and they seemed to be deep in conversation with those around them. Resigned, Harry reached out and took a small loaf of bread from a bowl as it floated past. He was a Slytherin, and that was that. He would need to adapt to his new surroundings.  
    Next to him, Lex Luthor nudged him with an elbow. "Told you he was senile, didn't I?" He said with a grin. "I'm glad you ended up in my house. I knew when I met you that we could be great friends."  
    Over Lex's shoulder, Harry saw the same two boys that had been hovering near him on the train. "It looks like you've already made a few friends," he noted, breaking his bread and smearing it with butter. The butter dish giggled as he cut a slab of butter, as though her were tickling it.  
    "Who, these two?" Lex jabbed his thumb in their direction. "I never introduced you, did I? The big one's Corben, and the fat one's Jones." He leaned close to Harry, and whispered. "Their dads work for my father. They were probably told to look out for me, so that their dads wouldn't get fired if something happened to me." He didn't smile as he said it, but in an instant, his wide grin was back and he was speaking in a normal tone. "They know your name, of course. Everyone does."  
    "Welcome to House Slytherin, Harry Potter," Said a high pitched voice. Across the table, Harry noticed a short, portly older boy with a long nose squinting at him. "My name is Oswald Cobblepot. I have to say, when I heard you would be entering Arkham this year, I didn't expect you'd be joining us."  
    Harry looked around the table, and noticed an unnatural silence from the other Slytherins, especially the older students, who were in earshot. Most of them were looking at him, but it wasn't the admiring, awed glances he had grown to expect. Instead, they seemed to be sizing him up.  
    "That helmet was on your head for a long time, Potter," Oswald continued. "You don't mind telling us how you ended up at our table, do you?"  
    "Watch your tone, Cobblepot," Lex sneered. "Potters my friend, didn't I mention that? And the helmet took its time with me, too. If you're suggesting-"  
    "Whatever I'm suggesting, first year," Cobblepot snarled, "I'm suggesting to Potter, not to you. You've got a lot to learn about how things work in Slytherin, but I'll make one lesson easy for you - First years don't talk back to upperclassmen, no matter who their father is."  
    Lex flushed, and looked ready to reach for his wand, but Harry place a hand on his arm, a calm, clueless smile on his lips. He was being tested, and if he wanted to pass, he needed to seem like he belonged here.  
    "Don't worry about it, Lex," Harry said with a sigh, "Oswald - may I call you Oswald?" The fat boy nodded slowly. "Oswald here wasn't trying to insult you, he just wants to make sure we fit in."  
    "That's right," Oswald nodded, his long nose twitching with delight at Harry's apparent obedience. "So, how about answering my question?"  
    "Why the Helmet took such a long time with me? Well, it seemed to think I would be a good fit in Ravenclaw, and it couldn't make up its mind." Harry guessed it wouldn't be prudent to mention the hat had thought he was right for Gryffindor. "So it asked me what I wanted. I told it I wanted to be strong, so that I would never lose at anything, and it put me in Slytherin." Harry watched the faces of the others as he spoke, to see if he was meeting their expectations. Oswald smiled, and other upperclassman seemed to be equally satisfied.  
    "You'll get strong here, Potter," Oswald said, shoving a leg of chicken into his face. "Slytherin's the house for winners. Quiddich cup for five years running, House cup for six. Just mind you listen to your elders, and you'll be able to keep our dynasty running." He let out a heavy burp. "I like you, Potter. You seem to catch on quick. So, I'll give you one piece of advice for free. _Don't ever cross Professor Strange_."  
    The other upperclassman shuddered a little at Oswald's advice, and Harry thought that maybe one of them would clarify his warning a bit, but nobody spoke. Harry turned to Lex. "You said you knew Professor Strange, didn't you?" He asked in a low voice, not wanting Oswald or his friends to hear.  
    "Yeah," Lex said, pointing discreetly at the table where the Professors were eating. The man he indicated was tall and gaunt with a greying goatee and widow's peak. He wore full-moon glasses, like Harry's, but silver, and seemed to be deep in conversation with Professor Crane, who looked absolutely terrified of him. "He's the Potions professor, and the head of our house."  
    "Is he scary?"  
    "I've never been afraid of him," Lex said with a shrug, "but I get the idea that he is very strict. He has no tolerance for stupidity." Lex smiled at Harry. "You shouldn't have any trouble getting along with him. You're like me. You're different from normal people. Smarter."  
    Harry wasn't sure what it was that Lex saw in him, but he smiled back. "Do you know any of the other professors?" He asked. He had already been caught off guard one too many times since arriving at this school. He didn't mean to let it happen again. Happy for a chance to show how much he knew, Lex began to point at the proffessors in turn.  
    "Well, the little man next to Strange, that's Professor Crane. He does Defense against the dark arts, but I've heard he's a coward and an idiot. Then that's Professor Woodrue, he teaches Herbology...he's talking to professor Drake, she's head of house for Ravenclaw. She teaches Charms, I think. You've met Gordon, of course, Dumbledore's lapdog. And there's the Flying Master, Alan Scott, he was a quidditch star in his day. I think he's also the head of Hufflepuff house, though I don't know why, it's not like he's a proper Professor." Harry studied them, and tried to see what he could glean about them from the way they ate, the way they talked to eachother. Since he didn't know what they were talking about, though, he didn't have much to go on, and decided to wait until class began.  
    When the feast was over, Dumbledore rose a second time, and gestured for silence. He wore a satisfied smile, and patted his belly happily as he spoke. "Before you return to your common rooms for the night, a few simple reminders. First, I would like to state for all present that the Forbidden Forest is so named for good reason, and that no student is to set foot there without the presence and express permission of a member of the staff. Second, Quidditch trials for the individual houses will begin in the second week for students in their second year and older. And lastly, I must inform you all that the third floor corridor on the right hand side is being remodeled and, as such, is currently full of dangerous magic and is out of bounds to any person who wishes to live to a ripe, old age."  
    At that last comment, mutters and whispers filled the room, but Dumbledore spoke over them as though there was no noise. "That is all. It is now time for bed, or at least, to send you to bed, where you will no doubt stay up until the wee hours playing exploding snap and gossiping about who-knows-what. I wish a good and prosperous year to all of you. Prefects, lead your houses to their common rooms."  
    From around the table, three boys and three girls stood and began to lead the Slytherins out of the Hall. As they passed through the many corridors of Arkham, Harry found himself feeling increasingly more lost. He could swear he saw staircases move around above him, and the walkways themselves seemed to twist and intersect at odd angles, making it nearly impossible for him to remember which way they had come from, or how to get back to the main Hall. He could tell which way they were going, though. They were going down.  
    They ended up in what looked like a dungeon, standing in front of what seemed to be a plain stone wall. "Listen up, everyone," one of prefects spoke loudly, so that everyone could hear, "The password this year is 'Snakeskin.' Commit it to memory, and do no repeat it where any from another house might hear you." upon his saying the word, the wall opened up into a long hall, ornately decorated with stone carvings of snakes. The room was lit by a series of torches and candelabras. The ones on the ground shone a bright, white light, but the ones on the wall burned with bright green flames, illuminating the ceiling with an emerald glow. At the end of the long room, a broad, ornate fireplace burned, and standing in front of the fireplace was the unmistakeable silhouette of Professor Strange.  
    "First years, come forward." He rasped. His voice was heavy and rough.  
    Looking at each other, the Slytherin first years scrabled forward, presenting themselves before the professor. "Stand up straight," he ordered, and they did so. "Form lines," he continued, and the shuffled about until they were an orderly unit, arranged in a uniform block, facing forward.  
    "Not all of you will know me, this being only the first day. I am glad to see that all of you were still wise enough to follow my instructions. You will go far." He paused, and began to pace in front of them, looking at each of them in turn. "I am Professor Hugo Strange, honored to be head of the esteemed house of Slytherin. The other heads of house do not keep order as I do, do not meet their students like this on the first night. The other heads of house would not ask of you the level of obedience and discipline that I will ask of you." His eyes moved around the room, stopping at each new student for exactly the same amount of time, giving them a look of pure authority. "But the students of the other houses are not so successful as the students of house Slytherin, in or out of school.  
    "Be Proud!" he thundered with sudden entusiasm, "For you are now members of an ancient and honorable establishment. House Slytherin is the place for those who push limits, who challenge expectations. House Slytherin is home to geniuses and pioneers. House Slytherin is home to the successful, the ambitious. And now, it is your home. Be proud."  
    He paused for effect, and then raised one hand. Without a word, the six prefects walked in a perfect, uniform march around the first years and came to stand behind Professor Strange, except for one, a handsome young man who stood at Strange's side. The professor cast an arm backwards, indicating the five students behind him. "These are your Prefects. They act on my authority, and on the authority of the school at large. You will respect them, and follow their orders and instructions as though they were my own." It was then that Strange's eyes finally lit on Harry, as he said in is deep, grating voice "And you will follow my instructions implicitly and without question." As the professor stared deep into Harry's own eyes, he felt suddenly singled out. Was it his imagination, or had Professor Strange looked at him for a few moments longer than any of the others? Had there been something...different about his eyes as he stared? His expression had remained the exact same, but for that moment, there had seemed to be a deep hatred in the eyes of Professor Strange.  
    But the moment was gone now, and the Professor was fixing his stern gaze on someone else. His speech continued as he lifted his other hand, indicating the boy who stood beside him. "This is Harvey Dent, selected as Head Boy by the Arkham staff. He is to be obeyed, just like the prefects, but he is also to imitated. His example is one that all students can profit from, especially the students of Slytherin." Something like a smile appeared on Strange's otherwise impassive face. "He is our shining star, our bright beacon. You would do well to learn from him in this, his last year here. It is because of students like him that Slytherin maintains the proud dynasty it has always held."  
    Dent bowed his head humbly as Professor Strange Praised him. When he raised his head again, a he wore a bashful smile. "That concludes our audience," Professor Strange said, his voice rumbling with finality. "Prefects, show the first years to their quarters." His long cloak sweeping after him, Professor Strange exited the Slytherin common room as The Prefects separated the first years by gender and took them to their rooms.   
    Harvey Dent led Harry to his room, which he shared with Lex, Corben and Jones, along with another boy, Edward Nygma. All their things were there, by their beds. Harry looked nervously at the five beds, so close together; he had never had to share a room before. However, he didn't have to dwell on it for long. As they entered the room, Harvey caught Harry gently by the shoulder and drew him aside. "Could I talk to for a second in the common room? I promise I won't take too much of your time."  
    "Of course," Harry said, expecting another test like the one he'd gotten from Cobblepot. When they got to the common room, though, Harvey sat down in front of the fire with an exhausted sigh. He didn't seem intimidating or imposing, the way so many of the other Slytherins tried to. "Please, do sit down. I just want to ask you a few questions. Please understand, you don't have to answer if you don't want to." Harry readied himself, but the first question was something he couldn't have prepared for.   
    "Have any of the others tried to bully you about having a muggle-born mother?"  
    Harry blinked. He wasn't sure if any of his classmates were even aware that Martha Potter had been born to a muggle family. "No."  
    "Understand, you won't be getting anyone in trouble. There's a saying here in Slytherin, 'No rats survive in the jaws of the snake.' We don't tell on other Slytherins. Everyone here is supposed to be part of the same family. I'm only asking because I want to know if you're getting on. You know, if you're making friends."  
    "Nobody's been teasing me. And I think I've made friends with Lex Luthor. Also, a boy named Oswald Cobblepot said he liked me."  
    Harvey smiled and nodded. "Good, that's very good. Stick close to Cobblepot if you can; find a way to sneak him a good meal every now and again, and he'll take good care of you. Devilishly smart lad, young Oswald, and a good flier, too. And he's only two years ahead of you, so you can learn a lot from him." He paused, and looked at his feet. "I'm glad you're not being bullied. Maybe we've finally gotten over that sort of thing. I only ask because my father's a muggle, and I remember that in my first year, I had to deal with some...unsavory people, saying all manner of rude things about me. It used to be rather commonplace. Its gotten less and less the longer I've been here, but I can't fool myself into thinking that my presence will change thousands of years of prejudice. Anyway, I wouldn't want something like to happen to anyone else."  
    "Thanks," Harry said, heartfelt, "For looking out for me."  
    "That's what I'm here for, isn't it? I don't know that you'll see much of me -- final year is supposed to be hellishly difficult, and I'm already stretched for time as it is. But, if you have concerns, or if you need someone to talk to, don't be afraid to knock on my door."  
    With a kind smile and a respectful nod, the older boy got up and made his way back up the stairs, into the boy's dormitories. Harry was about to follow him when a noise caught his attention he turned and saw a girl in the corner of the common room, watching him. She had jet black hair, like Diana's, but much more unruly. He recognized her as another first year, and he tried in vain to remember her name.  
    "You have a secret," she said slyly, and Harry froze. "You lied to the other boy," she continued. "The fat one. The Helmet tried to put you in Gryffindor, didn't it?  
That where you wanted to go."  
    Harry said nothing watching her as she inched slowly closer to him. "Gryffindor's not popular here. People might not like you if they knew. But don't worry," she purred, "I won't tell anyone. I like Gryffindor. In fact, I almost ended up there myself. Their mascot is a lion, a big, beautiful lion. I like lions. So, we'll keep this between you and me. I'm Selina Kyle. I think we should be friends." And with a triumphant grin, she disappeared up the stairs, into the girls dormatory.  
    Harry was exhausted. It already seemed like days ago that Alfred had asked him to make friends with tears brimming in his eyes. Harry wondered what Alfred would think of the friends he seemed to be making here. He stumbled up the stairs, quickly readied himself for bed, and all but fell onto the pillow. Before he knew it he was asleep. And no sooner had he fallen asleep than he began to dream.


	7. A Learning Experience

Class began the following day, and Harry quickly got swept up into the rhythm of school life. It was exhausting just to get to the right room on time, with most of the castle moving around. Harry was sure there was a pattern to the movements, but with the classwork that was building up, he hardly had time to look into it. Lex, on the other hand, seemed to have it all figured out. Most of the Slytherins had already learned to stick close to him, since he always knew the shortest route to the next room. Harry sometimes travelled with the rest of them, but as often as not, he moved through the halls alone. Though he didn't want to be alienated, he was quickly seeing reasons not to associate too closely with his classmates.  
    With each passing class, a feeling of unpleasantness about his house dug deeper into his mind. During off time, Older Slytherins ordered the first years around like servants, asking them to do simple, useless tasks like fetching class materials or delivering messages. Many of these things could be done by magic, but the upperclassmen seemed to think it would help the new students get used to the school if they weren't given a minute free to themselves. As far as Harry could see, the only older Slytherin not giving orders was Harvey Dent, put perhaps that was due to circumstance and not character; Dent seemed to spend every waking minute not in class in the Library, studying.  
    Despite the heavy level of discipline kept within the house, Slytherin students were noticeably unruly with most of the professors. Led by Lex Luthor, Harry's classmates had talked over Proffessor Crane's already disjointed day one lecture about the difference between zombies and vampires.  
    "He's got no idea what he's talking about," Lex scoffed as they walked out of the classroom. "To start with, 'Zombie' is a misnomer. A human body reanimated by dark magic is called an 'Inferni,' and they don't eat human flesh or brains. And as for Vampires, sure they may have existed once, but nobody's seen one for hundreds of years. Anyway if there are any, they're not in Britain. They were all forced out when the Ministry was formed. Honestly," he sighed, "I could teach that class. I don't know how a buffoon like Crane even got a position here." Everyone laughed, and Harry joined in with a few short chuckles, but it made him uncomfortable. Harry liked Lex; the other boy was very intelligent, and surprisingly easy to talk to. But though Lex treated Harry with kindness and respect, he looked down his nose on nearly everyone else, regardless of age or status. Harry, who had been brought up with special attention to politeness and manners, found Lex's blatent rudeness appalling.  
    It was worst in transfiguration. To start off, Professor Gordon had spent the first fifteen minutes of class explaining classroom rules and etiquette at length. It all seemed reasonable to Harry, but next to him, Lex grunted and hissed through the whole speech, as though each added rule was a personal insult. Taking his cue, Edward Nygma began to do the same, and some of the girls in the back of the class began to whisper to eachother. Then, for effect, Professor Gordon turned his table into a table into a handsome white horse, and then back, with little more than a flick of his wand. That got everyone's attention, and for a moment, Harry thought Gordon had earned the Slytherins' respect. But once the lesson began, any esteem they had in the mustached man evaporated into thin air. They weren't ready to transform anything so large or complex; instead, he emptied out a box of matches and asked the students to turn them into needles. He gave in-depth instruction that Harry attempted to follow to the letter, but neither he nor any of his classmates had any luck. This led to quite a bit of complaining and carrying on. Professor Gordon tried to assure them that this was normal, but Lex became very angry.  
    "I've followed your instructions perfectly," the pale boy raged, "and there is no change! It should have transformed by now! You must be teaching it wrong!"  
    "Maybe you're just not as talented as you thought you were, Luthor," Gordon roared. "Detention for insulting a professor, and five points from Slytherin!"  
    From then on, Lex's disregard for Gordon was personal, and seemed to extend to the whole house of Gryffindor. His condescending behavior towards other professors didn't stop, though. During Professor Drakes' lesson, Lex interrupted her often, trying to show two of the girls, Pamela Isley and Mercy Graves a different way to hold their wands than what Professor Drake was teaching. With an expression of strong dislike, she had tapped her wand gently against her throat and then let out a bloodcurdling scream so loud that it broke the windows. As the class tried to recover from their ringing ears in stunned silence, she tapped her wand against her throat a second time, waved it at the windows, which repaired themselves, and then continued her lecture as though nothing had happened.  
    Lex wasn't the only one of Harry's new friends he was having difficulty with. Ever since her enigmatic introduction, Selina Kyle seemed to shadow him, following him everywhere, but rarely speaking. Whenever he tried to talk to her, she would smile and ignore him, only to respond to his questions much later as though no time had passed, and then walk away. He found her behavior mysterious and confusing, and wondered if she was doing it on purpose to provoke this reaction in him. She seemed like someone he would like, but the more she avoided straightforward conversation, the less he knew about her, even as the time they spent together grew.   
    Harry did his best to get through the week without getting on anyone's bad side. It wasn't easy; especially after Gordon gave him detention, Lex's mood was unpredictable, and he would sometimes take out anger on others without warning. This was getting him into trouble with professors and upperclassmen, and it was coming very close to getting Harry into trouble, because Harry was Lex's friend, and everyone knew it. And so, when the end of the week rolled around, Harry looked to it with relief. It wasn't just because of the coming weekend, either; Harry had been secretly looking forward to friday since he'd looked in his schedule and found out what class it was.  
    "Double potions with the Gryffindors?" Lex sneered over breakfast. "Well, at least we'll finally get to have class with Professor Strange. Honestly, Harry, I can't wait. I'm sure it'll be amazing. He's a genius, but he's also an amazing teacher. Couldn't you tell from the introduction he gave us? He had such presence, such control over the whole room. And he didn't have to raise his wand. Not like Crane or Gordon or any of the other oafs at this place." Harry noticed that Lex would not insult Professor Drake by name, but decided not to say anything. "Everyone else here is too incompetent to really take control of a classroom."  
    Harry nodded, but didn't say anything. He was thinking about Clark and Diana. He'd hardly seen either of them in past few days. He had passed Diana once in the hallway, but she had ignored him. He still wanted to be friends with both of them; those few hours together in the train had been more enjoyable and bonding than the past four days with the other Slytherin first years. But would they still want to be friends with him? He thought back to Diana's rant about Slytherin, and the way she had glared at him when the helmet declared his house, and realized it was very unlikely. Both she and Clark were probably ashamed to have met him now.  
    Once breakfast was over, Harry and the other Slytherins all gathered together behind Lex and started to make their way to the dungeons, where the Potions room was. As usual, Lex led the way; after the first day, it seemed like the pale boy knew the whole school as well as the back of his hand.  
    "We'll be first in the room," he bragged, "Professor Strange likes students to be early, orderly and well organized. If we impress him now, he'll remember it for our whole seven years."  
    But when they got to the room, they weren't the first ones there. Diana and Clark were both in the room, and they were not orderly or organized. Clark was breathing heavily and laughing, leaning against his cauldron, and Diana had her hands on her knees. Apparently, they had raced, and it looked like Clark had won. Both wore playful smiles, and they were loud and in the way. Lex stopped in his tracks, staring at them as though he hoped a dirty glare would make them disappear.   
    "Excuse me," he drawled, "We'd like to get to our seats. You're in the way."  
    Instantly, Diana's posture changed. Any sign of exhaustion disappeared, and she stood up straight and solid, like a statue. "You can walk around us," She replied in a cold voice. She and Luthor squared off, each attempting to stare the other down. By her side, Clark waffled, clearly wanting to support her, but also wanting to avoid confrontation. Harry's heart went out to the other boy - after four days, he understood too well what it was to have an overly headstrong friend. Harry stepped forward, taking Lex's shoulder.  
    "Come on, Lex, we should get seated before the Professor gets in. We want to set a good impression, remember?"  
    Not looking away from Diana, Lex reluctantly walked around her to his place, and began readying his workplace, putting fuel under his cauldron and his knives and ingredients in order on his small work table. The other Slytherins began to do the same, with a silence and sense of purpose that seemed foreign to Harry. Up until now, his classmates had all been loud and unruly in the time before class started, and usually continued this behavior well into the lesson. However, whether it was Lex's leadership or some impulse of their own, they all seemed pushed by an urge to show Professor Strange their best behavior. Harry wasn't sure he understood their fervor - he had found Strange's induction lecture sensible rather than intimidating. With Alfred's training deeply ingrained in him, Harry saw no reason to be anything less than perfectly orderly for all Professors, not just the ones he respected. However, he said nothing as he readied himself for class along with the others, and was thankful for the silence as he did so.  
    It didn't last. As though sensing some imbalance in the world, the Gryffindors trickled into room rowdily, laughing  and joking, not concerned about timeliness or about preparing their materials. It seemed the exact same behavior that the Slytherins showed in other classrooms, and it was off-putting to see it reflected onto another group while Lex and the others stood stock still in front of their cauldrons, holding back rage as they waited respectfully for the Professor. There was something different about the disorderly conduct of the Gryffindors, however, that Harry noticed as he looked closer. While the laughter he was used to hearing from Lex and the rest was often derisive, the Gryffindors chortled joyously, as though having the time of their lives. There was a happiness to them that he had not seen or sensed in his own house - indeed, that he had never really seen before at all. He understood, at once, why he had not been sent to Gryffindor house. The high spirits and cheery behavior of the children who sat opposite him made them almost alien to his proper, thoughtful mind. He thought of Alfred, and of the parents he would never know, and knew in his heart that he could not laugh as they did.  
    Suddenly, the laughter ceased. Professor Strange had entered the room, and his presence swept over the noise like thick blanket, muffling the sounds and stopping all the little motions. A classroom of children all sat, looking at a single, imposing figure.  
    "My classroom will be quiet at all times unless my express permission is given to speak," Professor Strange stated, as plain as if he were commenting on the weather. Wand in hand, he gestured at the Gryffindor seats. Knapsacks and books that had been left carelessly in the aisles levitated above the childrens' heads. "Walkways will be clear, with no exceptions. Our work here is not without rish, and clutter is a hazard I will not tolerate." He began to flick his wand at each floating object, counting as he did. 5...10..." With each flick, a book or a bag flew neatly under a desk. "15...20 points from Gryffindor. I will expect better in the future."  
    The class was stunned. In the first week, they had grown used to the point system, and the ease with which professors changed the totals, but none of them had ever seen a teacher take as much as 20 points all at once, let alone before the lesson had even begun. Strange's eye turned to the other side of the room, and the edges of hist lips curled in the faintest hint of a smile. "It would appear that my own house need not be told in order to meet the most basic of expectations. I am pleased. However, neatness and orderly behavior is the very least of what I will be asking of you in this course. To succeed in the craft of making potions, you will need wits, will, and imagination. More importantly, you will need to follow my every instruction to the letter. Potion making is not a discipline where mistakes can be survived, let alone tolerated. Those too lazy, arrogant or slow-minded to do as I say would do well to simply give up and accept their failing grades. However, I will not always be there to hold your hand through this subtle, powerful art. You must study the knowledge of potions as though your life depends upon it, because without my instructions to rely on, it very well might." And then, surprising everyone in the little dungeon, Professor Strange barked out loudly "Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"  
    Harry was instantly taken aback. He looked into Strange's eyes, and saw for the second time an intense hatred that he could not place or understand. After a few moments, the question caught up to his brain, and an answer slowly squirmed its way out of his mouth. "You would get The Draught of Living death, sir." His voice was small and timid, and the room seemed to hold its breath as everyone wondered if he was correct or not. "It's a sleeping potion, sir."  
    "Correct," Strange hissed. Though the answer was right, Strange looked somehow dissapointed. "You will all take down that answer," Strange told the class, and as the sound of shuffling papers and quills filled the room, he continued. "In class, we will mostly be practicing the act of creating potions, but the knowledge and theory behind that act is of equal importance, which is why I will devote a small portion of time at the head of each class to such questions." He pulled a roster sheet out of his robe, looked it over quickly, and then called out another name.  
    "Kent!"  
    On the Gryffindor side of the room, Clark meekly raised a hand. "Where would you look to find a bezoar?" Harry didn't have to see the look on his face to know that the boy had no idea.  
    "I will try again," Strange sneered, and again, a hint of a smile was visible on his face, but this time the smile was not proud, but cruel. Harry understood the disappointment he had seen earlier; Strange had wanted him to fail, to make an example of him. As the time dragged by, Strange bullied several other hapless Gryffindors with similar questions. At his side, Harry saw Lex's satisfied smile as he wrote down the answers to each question before Strange revealed them. Keeping his own face as straight as he could, Harry waited for it to end. When the humiliation was at last over, Professor Strange directed them in the creation of a potion to cure boils. At Harry's side, Lex looked a little disappointed -- he must have been expecting something more advanced. However, once the lesson started, he threw himself into the work without a word. Immediately, Harry was reminded of why he and Lex were friends -- side by side, the two of them communicated without words, each looking at the other's potion and understanding what had been done, passing hints to the other through body language.   
    Lex would nod his head lightly towards an ingredient, and Harry would realize that he had to chop it before adding it to the mix - a direction not explicitly stated by Strange, but which made sense based on the reading. Harry would hold his elbows in tight as he stirred, and Lex recognized that he was letting his arms spread out in enthusiasm, stirring too rapidly. Though no words were spoken, the two shared in that classroom a time of clear understanding, and Harry wondered if the smiles on their faces were any different from those heartfelt smiles he had envied on the Gryffindors at the start of class. Harry felt very intelligent working alongside Lex, who was clearly very talented, and Lex seemed delighted to see someone who could keep up with him, even offer him advice.   
    When they were done, they had both produced a golden-brown liquid with a healthy glow, and Professor Strange passed over them with a reserved but proud smile. Harry thought  it seemed mainly directed at Lex, but accepted it happily. After the satisfaction of a job well done had set in, however, a sharp anxiety suddenly struck him. What about Clark and Diana? They didn't have a Lex nearby to help them out; were they able to make the potion? As Lex leaned back smugly in his seat, Harry risked a glance over towards the Gryffindor seats.  
    To his relief, Diana seemed to be rather competent at potions, and she was walking Clark through the instructions step by step. Clark was clearly confused, and even from the other end of the room, Harry could see various mistakes in his potion. But he seemed to be doing alright, and Harry let himself relax -- watching Strange bully the poor boy at the start of class had been heart wrenching, and it was good to know he was in good hands.  
    No sooner had he thought this than Diana's head turned, and for an instant, their eyes met. The same betrayal, the same indignant rage that she had shown him when the helmet had called his house, remained, and though their eyes locked only for a moment, Harry had to look away. He was embarrassed and ashamed, and didn't know what to think. He hadn't done anything wrong, so why was Diana so dead set against him? It wasn't his fault he was in Slytherin. Tossing it over in his head, Harry pushed his worries aside, looking at Lex and the glowing, perfect potions they had made together. Whatever the reason for it, perhaps his being in Slytherin was a good thing.  
    As though in answer to his thoughts, an explosion sounded out from the Gryffindor side of the room. As Harry whipped around to see what had happened, he saw Diana and Clark both rush towards a dazed looking blonde boy who was sitting on the floor of the dungeon, and in front of him, his cauldron appeared to be slowly melting.  
    "Arthur," Diana said worriedly, trying to get the boy to his feet, "Arthur, what happened? Are you all right?"  
    "What happened, Miss Prince," Professor Strange sneered from the head of the classroom, seemingly not the least bit fazed by the explosion, "Is that the fool boy forgot to add his porcupine quills. Since you seem so concerned, perhaps you can take him to infirmary - I'm sure the boils will begin to pop up any minute."  
    Indeed, as he spoke, red hot boils began to trace their way up the blonde boy's arms. Diana hoisted the moaning Arthur up, pulling his arm over her shoulder, but before she could leave, Professor strange spoke again.  
    "Wait." Diana stopped, even as Arthur's moans intensified. At the front of the room, Professor Strange whirled around, focusing all his attention on Clark. "Kent! Surely you could see what Mr. Curry was up to. Why didn't you tell him he'd forgotten the quills?"  
    "Well, Dia-" But Clark wasn't given a chance to explain.  
    "Thought you'd look better if he failed, did you? Well, you've only earned yourself another point taken from Gryffindor. I don't care how much of an idiot you are in the rest of the school, but when you are in my classroom, I expect you to at least pretend as though you are intelligent."  
    Clark looked at his feet, and Diana shot a piercing gaze of hatred at Professor Strange that he completely ignored. Over her shoulder, the boy named Arthur groaned in pain as the boils began to climb his neck, up towards his face. A thought occurred to Harry; if the failed potion caused boils, wouldn't a complete potion cure them? Normally, first year students might not be able to make a working sample on their first try, but he was sure that his and Lex's cauldrons would cure boils as well as anything in the infirmary. Why make them walk? But before Harry had a chance to say anything, Lex Luthor began to laugh.  
    It was not, in and of itself, a cruel laugh. It was a loud, whopping, joyous laugh, and Lex was slapping the desk in front of him as the laughter shook him. Looking at the pale boy, Harry realized he had been holding it in ever since Strange had revealed the mistake Arthur Curry had made. To Lex, the idea that anyone would leave out the quills was so absurd, so idiotic, that he couldn't help but lose himself in laughter. Around him, the other Slytherins joined in, their laughter growing louder and harsher, like a pack of hyenas. Disgusted, Diana and Arthur hobbled off in the direction of the infirmary, and Harry was left surrounded by laughing, happy faces, feeling dreadfully out of place.


End file.
